


America First... or whatever

by highlyrelevantnumber (Leonora_Acker)



Series: HL x POI x BoL One-shots [3]
Category: Body of Lies (2008), Homeland, Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gen, Team as Family, Treating bullet wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23673664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonora_Acker/pseuds/highlyrelevantnumber
Summary: When disasters are concerned, one should never taunt the universe or you might get a number.Alternate version of Homeland S6E12, “America First”.No deaths, I promise.
Series: HL x POI x BoL One-shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669003
Comments: 10
Kudos: 4





	America First... or whatever

**Author's Note:**

> I do apologize for the long delay. (You're probably getting tired of hearing this, I know.)

That morning, Roger Ferris descended the stairs to the subway and walked on the platform with his hands full of cups of coffee. It was his turn to bring the gang their daily dose of caffeine today. Immediately, he was surrounded by his teammates, who grabbed their respective beverages, nearly knocking him over– like falcons diving down to catch their prey. Only Fara took the time and trouble to say 'thank you'. He smiled back at her warm smile and slightly bowed his head.

"No number yet?" he asked, sipping on his own caffeinated drink, same as everyone else was doing.

"No, not yet," replied Quinn, holding his cup rather precariously over the keyboard of Max's computer, causing the brilliant, introverted tech to try to glare him to death.

At the same time, though, everyone was marvelling at how much progress Quinn was making in muscle coordination and how fast. Lately, physiotherapy seemed to be doing wonders for him. Although Root had teased that it was _Carrie's_ physiotherapy rather than the doctor's that was producing the results; Quinn had glared fireballs, while Carrie had yelled at the hacker about her lack of propriety, then burst into angry tears, and eventually settled on being mad at Root– in the form of intentionally shoving into her– for a week. The truth was Quinn _did_ look good. Not only physically but also in terms of appearance. He had cut his hair and returned to his overall military look. He needed more practice with guns to regain his marksmanship skills but with Reese's help he was getting there.

"Maybe the universe has decided to finally let us have some peace and quiet," Shaw commented while sinking down behind another computer beside Quinn and setting her cup down on the desk, next to the keyboard. A deep frown set between Fara's brows, she was genuinely worried about the computers. Root, Max, and she had explained almost a million times why liquids should be nowhere near the electronic equipment. Food plus electronics was the perfect compound to cause a full-blown disaster. Not that dealing with potential disasters wasn't the team's specialty.

However, when disasters are concerned one should never taunt the universe or you might get a number. "We have a new number," Max said from where he was seated behind a computer glancing over the screen at Fara, who responded with small smiles, blushed cheeks, and the slight fluttering of her thick eyelashes.

"Focus," Reese ordered Quinn, smacking him on the back of his neck. Quinn rubbed at his stinging skin.

"I am focused!" he cried out, followed by a hiss.

"Yeah, I can see," Reese said in a deadpan voice, "you're as focused as it can get. But you're distracting Carrie."

"If you have something to say Reese," Carrie challenged him in a less than friendly tone, "go ahead and say it instead of _implying_!" The last part was accompanied by a pair of appropriately raised eyebrows.

Reese put all his charm into looking innocent. "I'm not _implying_."

While Root and Max were trying to decipher who their number was and everyone else was distracted– Roger reassuring Aisha over the phone that the morning sickness she was feeling would pass, Reese having a mini war with the head over heels in love spy couple, Astrid petting Bear, who was happily wagging his tail, with her cup of cold coffee next to her on the floor– Fara waited for Shaw to drain the last of her coffee, before throwing all cups in the trash bin in the corner. She dusted her hands, satisfied. The Machine's precious equipment was safe now. Until tomorrow.

"Who's our number?" Quinn inquired, coming to stand behind Root and Max, along with Carrie, Reese, Astrid, Roger, and Shaw, while Fara took a seat in front of her own computer. Root pulled up a window on her computer turning the screen towards the others so that everyone could get a glimpse of their number. Fara found it on her computer.

"I'll be damned!" Quinn exclaimed.

"It's Relevant One," Fara murmured, mostly to herself and nearly rendered speechless.

"Elizabeth Keane," Astrid read off the screen, her voice even, letting her professionalism show. "The president of the United States."

"Who's after her?" Carrie asked, her forehead wrinkling.

"I bet it's the Russians," Reese answered, just to get on Carrie's nerves.

Root scoffed, pulling up pictures of people who, based on surveillance footage and Her calculations, were the most likely to be threats to Keane. They were all affiliated with the country's top intelligence services. The Machine had been made aware of coded conversations they'd had on burner phone with one Yevgeny Gromov in particular. "It's always the Russians," Astrid stated matter-of-factly.

"Why do they want to take Keane out?" Roger asked, "Could it be some deal she made with them but failed to keep? The assassination of a president is a pain in the head to plan and carry out, not to mention the surest way to cause a diplomatic incident."

"Or the Third World War," Carrie pointed out.

"Or a nuclear catastrophe," Shaw added.

"Alright," Reese intervened, "we get the gist. Keane's assassination would have grave consequences for all of humanity."

Astrid turned to Root. "But why risk this war?"

Root got up from her chair and sat on the edge of the table so that she could face the rest. "To secure the outcome of another war, in which both sides have interests: Afghanistan. Both the US and Russia agree there should be peace. Add Pakistan into the mix, the Taliban, and– yes, Shaw– nuclear weapons and suddenly the only thing they agree on is that they disagree on the terms of the peace deal. So, Keane has her red lines drawn but this guy..." She pulled up another picture, one of a well dressed politician with smooth features. "... doesn't. In fact, he likes the Russians." Root casually folded her arms over her chest, tilting her head to one side. "Remember when Samaritan rigged the election?"

Roger scratched the back of his head, in thought. "Uh... no." He wasn't around for that party, having joined the team at a later date. But he did have a thing for interrupting or taking over other people's debrief sessions. _Why do all CIA guys have to be this hopeless?_ Root cast him a pitying glance.

"Let me guess," Shaw cut in, before Root could continue, "the feeling is mutual. They want _him_ for president."

"Exactly."

Astrid cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Castle and Beckett. Does your shared brain make the rest of us Ryan and Esposito?"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Shaw asked in annoyance, the pop culture reference apparently lost on her.

"It's a..." Root began to reply, before being interrupted by Roger.

"It's a police procedural TV series. Castle is a writer, Beckett is a cop. Castle is shadowing Beckett while she works on her cases for research purposes. Ryan and Esposito are her partners. Typically, Castle and Beckett solve the case, reaching the same conclusion at the same time. The other two have pretty much the role of support."

"I didn't ask for a full debrief, did I?" Shaw's tone wasn't entirely hostile but it wasn't entirely friendly either.

Roger shrugged, suppressing a smile. "I thought you'd like to know. And that hearing a debrief from someone other than Root would be a welcome change."

"Maybe I want to hear a debrief from Reese?" She was smirking.

"Guuys..." Fara reminded them of the task at hand.

"So," said Quinn, "those agents are going to be operating in the dark. We need to track them down and keep up. There's not much the Machine can do to help us, they're going to be hiding just under Her nose."

"Good, all fashioned human intelligence," Roger finished his teammate's thought.

"What's our strategy?" Reese asked Root for, hopefully, an additional bit of enlightenment.

The answer he received, though, was not in the slightest bit more enlightening, nor was it in the least hopeful. It felt like Samaritan era all over again. "We stay in the shadows and we haunt the ghosts."

Astrid scoffed under her breath. "Whatever that means."

"We all know what that means," Quinn said ten times louder than Astrid, "It's the easiest way for us to wind up in a hail of bullets!"

"If you have a better idea," Astrid countered, "we are waiting to hear it."

Quinn sucked his breath in, his mouth forming a tight line. "No, I don't have any better ideas. The Machine better know what She's sending us into."

Carrie nudged him with her elbow softly on the side. "Come on, Quinn, don't you want to save your country?"

"Yeah," Shaw said, "America first... or whatever."

All in all, the mission was a glowing success. The assassination of the president was prevented and she was safely returned to her entourage, while her assailants ended up with bullets in their kneecaps. Although Root _did_ scare Keane out of her mind by tasing her and stuffing her in the trunk to protect her. And they _did_ wind up in a hail of bullets, each team member getting a hole in one of their arms.

Fusco and Silva played a major role in saving the president and, as a result, were applauded as national heroes for their bravery. Saul congratulated them personally by shaking their hands, making Carrie want to snap a picture to immortalise the moment. Not that the place wasn't already crawling with reporters, journalists, and photographers. The pair of NYPD detectives were put on a helicopter and taken to Washington DC to be formally and properly commended as well.

As for the Russian agents, they were now in the hands of the authorities and would be dealt with accordingly– all but Yevgeny, who had managed to flee. There were more loose ends to be wrapped up, but the team didn't stay as their job there was finished.

Back in the subway, two medical experts, Aisha– a nurse– and Shaw– an almost doctor–, were treating the team's bullet wounds.

"Sweetie, why do I get a nurse while he gets a doctor?" Root complained to Shaw with a slight pout.

"I'm right here, you know," Aisha reminded her rather sternly, "I can hear you."

"Because," Shaw replied to Root in a calm voice, "you broke our deal of not getting shot." Immediately, her eyes widened in realization and she muttered a curse under her breath, disappearing to fetch more gauze. Root was beaming. Shaw returned half a minute later, having regained her composure. "Besides," she added, her tone as unwavering and deadpan as ever, "I rather like Roger. Soldier in the War on Terror and all."

"Nice to hear it," Ferris said, not in the least flinching as Shaw dabbed at the hole in his arm.

"What would that make me, then?" Reese asked.

"You're like... my brother in crime," Shaw replied.

"Thanks, Shaw." His smile actually showed a little teeth, so he was probably satisfied with her answer.

Astrid joined the company, bringing a small colored plastic bottle full of painkillers. She opened it, swallowing two. Then, she handed the little bottle over to Carrie. The American blonde followed the German blonde's wordless advice, shoving a couple of pills down her throat without even a gulp of water. She offered the painkillers to Quinn.

"Quinn, any pills?" she asked, holding the bottle out for him to take.

"No, thanks," he refused politely.

"I gave him something extra special earlier," explained Shaw.

"Why does Quinn get the good stuff?" Ferris whined.

"Would you rather have been gassed by terrorists, my love?" came the harsh retort from his wife, followed by a much softer: "Sorry, Quinn."

"No worries, Aisha," Quinn reassured her at the same time Roger admitted, "Um, not particularly."

"Yeah," Quinn joked, "he wouldn't have wanted to deprive me of such joy." His uncharacteristically cheerful and talkative demeanor made Carrie briefly wonder whether the stronger painkillers Shaw mentioned had some pretty strong side effects too.

Shaw was cleaning the cuts on her current patient's– Carrie's– face. "Perhaps, Aisha and I should go find more cooperative patients to tend to," she said as Carrie hissed at the sting of the disinfectant and removed Shaw's hand holding the cotton pad.

"I absolutely agree, Shaw," Aisha said with a sigh, Root making such a fuss every time the nurse's gloved fingers approached a scratch that she wouldn't allow Aisha to finish. It took a fair amount of coaxing on Aisha's part to get Root to finally hold still but, at least and long last, she did. As soon as Aisha finished, the small bottle was passed over to Root and she gratefully accepted it. She unscrewed the lid, frowning at the one remaining pill. Max was internally seething because this meant he wouldn't be getting any.

"Yeah," he commented, "you medical professionals should probably go. And let Root lick her wounds."

"That's disgusting! And mean!" Fara scolded him.

For a moment, Root glared daggers in his direction, then handed him the tiny bottle. "You take it," she said, "I'm not this fragile, I can handle a little pain."

"And now she's being a drama queen!" said Quinn, his tone not entirely affectionate but not entirely harsh either. He revealed a new bottle of pills, this one full to the rim, and waved it in front of Root. With a deceivingly sweet smile and a swift swipe of her uninjured arm she was able to yank the item of her craving away from him, causing his aching muscles to hurt even more. Root clutched the bottle close to her chest in triumph. Then, she and Max made a show of swallowing their earned pills slowly and contentedly _with_ a few sips of water out of two small plastic water bottles.

"You know, you're still a drama queen," Quinn told her, his voice gentle and eyes tender. She graced him with an adoringly wicked smile. Quinn caught himself smiling as well and raised his head abruptly, being still seated in the chair, to face Max, who was standing. "You too Max."

"What did I do now!?" the technician cried out, somewhere between exasperated and defenceless.

Quinn smiled, bright and warm. "Nothing." But his eyes said that this team– _his_ team, _their_ team– was clearly _everything_ to him. (And he was everything to them.) They were everything to each other and _would_ fight in order to continue to be.

_And so they lived, arguing playfully, taking care of each other, and saving numbers with the Machine to watch over and guide them... until the next mission._

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. “ _It's always the Russians_ ” is a reference to Fusco's line “ _It's always the cook_ ” from [Welcome (Back) to the Machine](/works/11105142/chapters/25561233).
> 
> 2\. _Castle_ is an amazing show, which I absolutely recommend watching.
> 
> 3\. Hopefully, the final part of this mini series will be up by the end of the week. Again, hopefully...


End file.
